


Happy Wedding Gift Fic! :)

by taylor_tut



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Ed Whump, Gen, Hurt Edward Elric, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A fic from my tumblr for a good friend to celebrate her wedding! She requested this: "So for my Wedding Fic, I’m thinking to revolve this around our son Edward Elric from FMA. See what I’m thinking is.... to just make him suffer a great deal. Something like getting stabbed in the gut, but not wanting to worry Al, so just hiding it? The pain is obviously starting to wear him down, and he has to keep hiding his winces and gasps for when he moves the wrong way. He makes up all the excuses he can until the wound opens while their out and about, and blood goes everywhere and he faints"





	Happy Wedding Gift Fic! :)

"Winry is going to be so relieved that we managed to get through a battle without damaging your automail, don't you think?" Al asked, nudging Ed out of his nearly-asleep state in which he'd pressed himself against the train window. 

"Yeah," Ed agreed, opening and closing his fist to punctuate the point. It wasn't often that they came away from a bigger mission like the one they'd just finished without having to replace SOMETHING, usually something attached to a certain reckless state alchemist, but this time, they'd managed to keep all Ed's limbs attached and both of them had walked away without so much as a scratch.

Well. As far as the automail was concerned. 

Ed allowed his eyes to drift shut again, sort of hoping that Al would get the message and let him sleep the rest of the way back to Central, but he had no such luck. 

"Shouldn't you be working on your report?" he nagged, and Ed groaned. 

"We're not even back to the dorms yet," Ed whined, pressing himself a little tighter against the window. The sun-lit glass was warming his still-clammy skin. He'd stitched the cut up as best he could—it wasn't, in his opinion, worth performing any kind of self-transmutation to heal, but he certainly didn't want to be hospitalized over it, not when the lead they'd found was so promising—but with the wound's placement right below his ribcage and given the length of it, even the slightest movement of his arms or torso pulled at his stitches. 

"But brother," Al continued, "the faster you can report to Colonel Mustang, the faster he'll be able to send us out again." If Al was being this pushy, Ed knew he must be antsy to go. Even though he'd long-since forbidden himself from becoming optimistic about Philosopher's Stone leads, he had to admit, this one was the most promising rumor he'd heard in quite some time. 

"Alright, alright," Ed caved, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "But if you think I'm going to—"

"Brother?" Al asked as Ed trailed off with a pained hiss, leaning suddenly forward and cradling his ribs with his flesh hand. Involuntary tears had formed in the corners of his eyes and he struggled to get his breath back for a few seconds as Al fretted, his big metal hands hovering over, but not touching, Ed's back. 

"Fine, fine," Ed reassured unconvincingly, swatting Al's hands away. "Just some sore muscles; I moved wrong," he fabricated. Al sat back a bit, knowing his brother didn't like to be smothered, but unable to hide his concern. 

"Are you sure?" he asked, the red of his eyes seeming to glow brighter in the way Ed could swear they did whenever Al was worried about him. Even from a metal suit of armor, his brother managed to be more emotive than most people. 

"Would I lie to you?" Ed dodged, and Al nodded emphatically. 

"Yes!" he argued. "You do it all the time!" 

Ed flashed a devious smile that had just enough energy to cover up the pain and convince his brother that even if he was a little more than sore, that he'd be okay for now. Al grabbed his briefcase from the storage space above their seats and handed it to him gently, looking like he felt guilty for asking Ed to finish the report no. 

"You know," Al started, "you don't have to write it if you're too tired. The Colonel can wait a day or two while you rest." Ed shook his head—often, if he didn't get his way the first time, he gave up and sulked instead, but on the other hand, Al hadn't been trying to guilt him into overworking himself. 

Ed shook his head. "Nah," he dismissed, "you're right, anyway. It's better to finish it now and not have the Colonel riding my ass about it all week. This way gets him out of our hair faster." 

Al sat back in his seat, feeling something between relieved and suspicious. Even though Ed insisted that he wasn't too tired, Al could see the dark circles under his eyes and the shimmer of sweat that was forming on his forehead. His brother deserved a break, but they both knew he didn't have time to take one.

So Al didn't press Ed when his attention drifted away from the report and to staring out the window, nor did he wake him when his eyes drifted shut and his chin rested heavily in his hand. Instead, Al simply took the papers away and folded them neatly back into the bag they'd come from. 

Ed drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the two-hour train ride. He was still asleep when they arrived back at the Central City station, so Al nudged him gently. 

"Brother," he called softly, "we're home. It's time to wake up." Ed startled awake, barely managing to contain a grimace of pain as his "sore" muscles acted up with the movement. 

"Hm," he grunted, rubbing at one eye tiredly. "We should stop into Command so I can give my report."

Al hesitated. "But you didn't finish," he pointed out, earning a mischievous smirk from Ed. 

"Finished enough for that Bastard Colonel," he insisted. It was probably true, Al knew, though he wasn't proud of the fact that Roy had deemed it less work to fill in the blanks of a half-assed report than to force Ed to write a comprehensive one. 

"Still," Al insisted, "no one is expecting us until tomorrow at the earliest. We could take it easy.  Aren't you hungry?"

The ever-hungry alchemist paled. "Not right now," he answered, his hand once more covering his torso protectively. Before Al could worry about that, he spotted someone out of the corner of his eye.

"Is that the Colonel?" he asked, pointing to the other end of the train platform to, indeed, Roy Mustang, who was stepping off a train that had come in from some other part of town. Before Ed could sneak away, Roy looked up and waved, ushering the two over his way, and Al didn't hesitate even when Ed whined. 

"Hello, boys," Roy greeted, in an unusually good mood—he mustn't've been doing much work on whatever assignment he'd been working.

"Good evening, Colonel," Al chirped back, gesturing to the several bags he was carrying. "Would you like us to take those? They look heavy."

Roy nodded, handing one leather luggage case to Al and a smaller, lighter one to Ed, who took it hesitantly. 

"Thank you," he said, picking the third bag off the ground. He scanned Ed up and down scrutinizingly. "I take it the mission went well?" he assumed, expecting either a rant or an excited ramble, but Ed gave neither. His face had paled considerably since they'd gotten off the train, Al noticed concernedly, and more dragging the bag along the ground than carrying it.

"It did," Al replied when it became clear that Ed wasn't going to.

"Glad to hear it," Roy said. "So your report should be early, since it's so straightforward." Ed winced but didn't react otherwise. His face was screwed up into an expression of what looked like pain, and he was walking slower than the Colonel would have liked. 

"I think we're both a bit tired," Al said, which Roy knew really meant that Ed was tired, that he likely wasn't planning on getting the report done any time soon, and that Al knew as much. "We may take a day or two to recuperate."

Ed glared weakly at his brother but didn't object, which was odd. Even when—especially when—he was absolutely exhausted, he usually didn't want Al to tell HIM that. Ed was beginning to lag behind, still pulling the bag behind him by the strap, seemingly fighting to keep his eyes open. 

"Fullmetal, stop scratching my luggage," Roy demanded. Ed snapped to attention and flipped him off. However, he nevertheless pulled the bag up by its straps—

—and immediately hissed in pain, crumpling to his knees. 

"Brother!" Al cried, his own bag forgotten as he knelt down beside Ed, who was still grimacing in pain and clutching his side. Roy crouched beside Ed, trying to stay out of Al's way but also get a good look at the kid. 

"I'm fine," Ed insisted, but his voice was strained and unconvincing. Roy became suddenly aware, even over the sound of Al's panicking, of a dripping noise somewhere nearby, and his eyes went wide when he realized the cause. A pool of blood was forming rapidly on the ground under Ed's hunched position, slipping through his fingers and coating them with red. "I told you; I'm just sore." 

Roy gently pulled Ed's hand away from whatever was leaking blood and tugged his shirt up, frowning when he found the long, deep cut that lurked there.

"That's not fine," Roy scolded. Ed's entire torso was bruised and bloody, but the single slash wound was by far the most pronounced of his injuries. He blinked dizzily. His head was spinning, and it was taking everything in his power just to stay upright and conscious.

"When did that happen?" Al demanded frantically. Ed pointedly averted his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

But Roy knew. Hurt meant hospital, and hospitals meant more downtime, so Ed avoided them when he could. Instead of replying, Ed's eyes fluttered shut and he fell forward from his knees, buckling forward at the middle. 

"Alright, hey," he said, forcing the evenness in his tone, "stay awake, Fullmetal." Ed groaned, partially from the pain and partially from being manhandled by the Colonel and not having the strength to do anything about it. "Alfonse," he continued, "would you be able to run to that phone booth and call Lieutenant Hawkeye? Ask her to send a medic." Worriedly, not wanting to leave but wanting to be helpful, Al bustled off to do as he was told. 

"Don't need a hospital," Ed argued. Roy rolled his eyes. 

"Then they'll clear you quickly," Roy returned. "Keep pressure on that." When Ed failed to do that, Roy helped him to sit against a bench so that he could hold pressure to the wound instead. Ed was too tired to argue further, allowing Roy to push on the injury even though it hurt, and closing his eyes. 

"You're an idiot," he scolded, brushing off the glare it earned him. "One of these days, you're going to get yourself killed." If that's what it took, Ed knew, to bring Al's body back, he didn't care. 

 


End file.
